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Page 14
"I'll be darned!" remarked reporter number one.
"Where did that blow in from?" added reporter number two.
But reporter number three had imagination. "The dearest old soul I've
seen in a blue moon," said he.
Aunt Basha proceeded down the street and more than one in the crowd
glanced twice at the erect, stout figure swinging, like a quaint and
stately ship in full sail, among the steam-tuggery of up-to-date
humanity. There were high steps leading to the bank entrance, impressive
and alarming to Aunt Basha. She paused to take breath for this
adventure. Was a humble old colored woman permitted to walk freely in at
those grand doors, open iron-work and enormous of size? She did not
know. She stood a moment, suddenly frightened and helpless, not daring
to go on, looking about for a friendly face. And behold! there it
was--the friendliest face in the world, it seemed to the lost old
soul--a vision of loveliness. It was the face of a beautiful young white
lady in beautiful clothes who had stepped from a huge limousine. She was
coming up the steps, straight to Aunt Basha. She saw the old woman, saw
her anxious hesitation, and halted. The next event was a heavenly smile.
Aunt Basha knew the repartee to that, and the smile that shone in answer
was as heavenly in its way as the girl's.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" spoke a voice of gentleness.
And the world had turned over and come up right side on top. "Mawnin',
Miss. Yas'm, I was fixin' to go in dat big do' yander, but I dunno as
I'm 'lowed. Is I 'lowed, young miss, to go in dar an' gib my two hun'erd
to Unc' Sam?"
"What?" The tone was kindness itself, but bewildered.
Aunt Basha elucidated. "I got two hun'erd, young miss, and I cert'nly
want to gib it to Unc' Sam to buy clo'se for dem boys what's fightin'
for us in Franch."
"I wonder," spoke the girl, gazing thoughtfully, "if you want to get a
Liberty Bond?"
"Yas'm--yas, miss. Dat's sho' it, a whatjer-ma-call-'em. I know'd 'twas
some cu'is name lak dat." The vision nodded her head.
"I'm going in to do that very thing myself," she said. "Come with me.
I'll help you get yours."
Aunt Basha followed joyfully in the wake, and behold, everything was
easy. Ready attention met them and shortly they sat in a private office
carpeted in velvet and upholstered in grandeur. A personage gave grave
attention to what the vision was saying.
"I met--I don't know your name," she interrupted herself, turning to the
old negro woman.
Aunt Basha rose and curtsied. "Dey christened me Bathsheba Jeptha,
young miss," she stated. "But I'se rightly known as Aunt Basha. Jes'
Aunt Basha, young miss. And marster."
A surname was disinterred by the efforts of the personage which appeared
to startle the vision.
"Why, it's our name, Mr. Davidson," she exclaimed. "She said Cabell."
Aunt Basha turned inquiring, vague eyes. "Is it, honey? Is yo' a
Cabell?"
And then the personage, who was, after all, cashier of the Ninth
National Bank and very busy, cut in. "Ah, yes! A well known Southern
name. Doubtless a large connection. And now Mrs.--ah--Cabell--"
"I'd be 'bleeged ef yo' jis' name me Aunt Basha, marster."
And marster, rather _intrigu�_ because he, being a New Englander, had
never in his life addressed as "aunt" a person who was not sister to his
mother or his father, nevertheless became human and smiled. "Well, then,
Aunt Basha."
At a point a bit later he was again jolted when he asked the amount
which his newly adopted "aunt" wanted to invest. For an answer she
hauled high the folds of her frock, unconscious of his gasp or of the
vision's repressed laughter, and went on to attack the clean purple
alpaca petticoat which was next in rank, Mr. Davidson thought it wise at
this point to make an errand across the room. He need not have bothered
as far as Aunt Basha was concerned. When he came back she was again _�
la mode_ and held an ancient beaded purse at which she gazed. Out of a
less remote pocket she drew steel spectacles, which were put on. Mr.
Davidson repeated his question of how much.
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